Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Out just in time for the festering season... this houses another fine slice of stereo voodoo from the ever prolific Monsieur Chainsaw... It's been a real honour supplying the eye candy, hope it goes someway towards describing the scorch of the wares within... been a fan ever since hearing a B/W Progression cassette in Gary's shop back in the arse end of the nineties(?)... Conjuring the wretched, whistling all phantasmagorical... titles illumiskating your skull, as if symbiotic with the quivering shapes in your inner ear...

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Sooooooooo, Sam Bucca is back in the Rottenmeats musical refrigerator after a several year gap in which his bottle was opened but the contents rejected. However, he's still within his 'Best Before Date' (currently slated as 2053) and ready to share with you his sometimes mouldy, pungent views and reviews. Drop in a couple of beans, and light up a flamer....

Salutations, browsers and carousers of the world of noise. Last night (the 19th of Nov) Saw master Cloudboy and myself saunter down to the bright lights of of Bristol to enjoy a night's stimulation at the ever fantastic Croft, a venue catering for the widest range of extreme and experimental music. My personal mission was to witness Vena Cava in action - but it was a bonus to discover that our jaunt coincided with a wider night of entertainment.

Already in full-flow when we arrived were the three-piece Transpersonals, cranking out a psychadelic pop/rock melange: Really good - jagged flanged Voodoo-vibed guitar and some excellent phat synthetic stringed bass work (played on a historic fender jazz a-like complete with 'ashtray' and finger board, Lord be praised!) - and topped off with reassuringly bearded and groovetastic syncopated drumming. Its a shame they seemed slightly apologetic to be there - especially as it seemed they drew the biggest overall crowd of the night. Com'on chaps! Get thee the confidence of knowing you're good (coz you is - a view perchance shared by the attractive young ladies who seemed to be there for your delectation and distraction!).

It was on a wave of pleasantly surprised euphoria, we then nipped back next door to catch Radiant Sounds of Dust - a delightfully shambolic slacker stoneresque multinational collective of noiseniks who were crashing out an early Mercury Rev styled sonic meander (despite some issues with broken strings) and the fact that the Croft crowd were constantly having to ping-pong backwards and forwards between the from and back bar. It was as frustrating as the inevitable clash of bands at a major festival - nay more so, as these are the kind of artists who'd benefit from a proper airing to new audiences. Its fair to say that the Croft was hardly heaving, so all the more of a shame that each band's own 'renta mob' didn't have a realistic chance of broadening their horizons by seeing something they hadn't necessarily catered for. (Please take note Croft - Sam Bucca believes that more is sometimes less!) Anyway, they were good - and apparently getting better by the gig. Sunburnt Hand Of The Man watch out.

It was with regret that I had to leave RSoD after only a couple of numbers in order to catch Vena Cava. Now I have to express a bias here, as I've had the pleasure of meeting the charming trio of Bambi, Charlie and Mardt before. It was therefore very gratifying to hear that their brand of trancy looped/Loop rock was up the Bucca street, combining hints of MBV, a squeeze of metal, bar chords on the six string and chords on the bass dispersal unit. Charlie was an alluring flail of hair, sticks and beat, Mardts weeny finger's flew accurately and rapidly over the fat wires and Bambi successfully battled a detuned guitar to crack out a succession of rhythmic drones. (Only constructive but uncritical comment from Mr Bucca is that I though Bambi's vocals sounded a bit lost at one stage - I wonder if she'd benefit from an on-stage monitor?) All in all, top stuff and worth the wait to finally catch up with them!

Last on were Attack Horse. As I catch up with middle age, its especially reassuring to witness people who've torn up more calendars than I have still cutting it, mixing it up and shoving it down our ears. By no means a noise band, Attack Horse were an artsy, quirky outfit very much in the mould of Talking Heads and The Wolfgang Press - with a slightly camp dose of humour and a nod and a wink. Here were a bunch, who despite being headliners saw the funny side of having to call in the audience from next door, who were slaking their throats at the bar, post Vena Cava. I very much enjoyed their set - and would recommend a visit to their very excellent website

So, all in all a night of fun, frolics and reflection. A big thanks to the Croft for continuing to champion what's freshest/most challenging/ unpredictable and ultimately, enjoyable in the Bristol arts music scene - and a big shame on the apathetic shite which passes for human biomass, the goons and aesthetic voids who'd sooner stuff their ears with X-Factor pap, pants skate metal and frikken tribute bands. May your Vena Cavas rupture, may you be mauled by an angry Shire and may the dust of your decayed corpse blow to to the four winds - yer Transpersonal skills are severely lacking.

And with that attempt at a punny and topical denument, Mr Sam Bucca must retire back into the drinks cabinet and pour himself another cliche.

Friday, November 12, 2010

This grabs you by the short n curlies, raw and unapologetic. The Pussy Patrol girls are living it fast and furious... the guitars rubbing the sweat soaked drums and gishy cymbals up the wrong way, all topped by plenty of incoherent tonsil flinging... It's a gorgeous mess of the highest order, and the crowd recorded here are totally loving it... The heat coming off those two chord growlings and out of sync drums is insane... at points, the threesome come across like an intoxicated Afrirampo...

12 mins in, they pull off a sarcastic cover of Be My Baby, which starts surprisingly tight, but quickly unravels to burst it's seams in overloaded fuzz... There's even a song called Lick My Periods... Man, this is shambolically excellent stuff that ends far too quickly for my liking... what's more it comes with a foldout Xerox of the girls in action...

A loony 99 trk CDr spanning over 66mins, the longest, clocking in at a gargantuan 2 minutes, while the majority scrape in at the 30 sec mark. Not as attention deficit as you may think... flows out with a strange logic of its own... like a soundtrack to a weird road trip where the hitch-hikers bend the journey out of all recognition... throwing out plenty of obscure emotions, introspective canker and noisy scree... A beautifully damaged piece of work from the likes of Bjerg/Iverson, Dylan Nyoukis, Anders Gjerde, Joey Chainsaw, Cock ESP and many more... only 99 copies...

Pure chill-out… an excellent diffusion of talents from newcomer Dollboy and a firm favourite of mine, the Sone Institute… the pace is dreamily sedate, as field recordings and vinyl keepsakes mingle with the acoustic and vocal moonbeams... concocting the familiar with tints of subtle magic… jarring edges blended out, fed into a soft focused Emmanuelle cinescope… Sounds becoming a scatter of dandelion seeds drifting through the headphones… headphones being the best way to experience this EP’s lush sensibilities… a definite cure for all you insomniacs out there.

Been eager to catch US Girls, since listening to Megan's set on the Free Music Archive. Live, she wasn't as abrasive as I was expecting...way more polished. Using tapes as source material, she chopped them into sequences... herded their nuances, enveloped the beats into lush little loops, which she sang within... a bare boned kick box of ideas... her vocals sweet n slightly sinister, like Alison from the Cranes, or at other times, a seductive mirage of some late 60's backing singer, really beguiling stuff...

Before her, came Hellvete, a solo off shoot of the Anfang posse… That droney yurt ambience he was giving out, certainly had a strange flavour in the near darkness. The hypno-70’s lamp shade on screen was full of deceptive realities that bled into the bowed overlay of banjo …A blissful palimpsest of wolf hair and cross hatched blister… the density cutting out to a country tinged twang finale...

Regrouping, those Belgium boy headliners Silvester Anfang II, rode out a solid kraut fuelled riff monster of a sound, hard angular guitar u-turns sparring with the sway, the bass tapping into some pleasant semi gloom... members interchanging their wares... giving out differing drum tactics... wavering silhouettes in front of the projected psych candy, cascades of colour, volatile shapes, naked girls n skulls all adding to the experience... the perfect excuse for some crazy fool dancing.

Was feeling a bit shy for some reason, so didn’t chat much with the boys… but a quick chin-wag with Hellvete revealed that a new slab of Anfang vinyl is in the works… cheekily I suggested it should be 4hr box set…